Four (Rules Undying Book 1), page 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2015
A Kindle Scout selection Amazon, the Amazon logo, Kindle Scout, and Kindle Press are
trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
To the person in my life who left too soon—
The one who showed me my demons when she tried to drive them out.
Only shadows let you truly see the light, so from darkness let this tale bring some sunshine—
Just not when any vampires are around.
Contents
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Acknowledgements
- 1 -
“Well, it’s not every day that you give your resume to a vampire, now is it?” Georgia asked with a wink as she leaned over her desk.
Across the mahogany the applicant’s eyes widened ever so slightly.
The interviewer smiled. “Oh, come on, sweetie, what else do you call a boss who works every night and drains his competition dry?” she asked.
The interviewee shrugged. “I don’t know . . . a very successful real estate magnate?” she asked weakly. “I’ve handled some tough executives before, though. My last boss was in publishing, and she had me on call twenty-four seven.”
Georgia read over the beautifully embossed life story of one Elizabeth Shaw one more time, careful to take note of her extensive experience spanning over nearly a decade. The interviewee wore an impeccable black suit and stunk of high-end cologne, with nary a single frosted strand out of place from her little blonde bun.
“We’re still reviewing candidates, but I’ll let you know,” Georgia said while rising to shake Ms. Shaw’s hand.
“If you need any more references—” the frosty blonde offered.
Georgia smiled again. “Don’t worry, you have amazing qualifications. Any sane boss would be thrilled to have you as his assistant,” she offered.
As soon as the candidate slipped out of the room, Georgia promptly tossed the resume into the already full bin. “It’s a crying shame this one isn’t sane, sweetie,” she muttered before sliding around to the door and yelling out, “Next!”
Only one candidate remained perched on the sofa in the waiting room of Lambley, DeMarco, and Young, LLC—a slip of a college grad in a cute flowery top and pleated skirt. She stared up at Georgia
with big brown eyes and a hopeful smile. “Ms. Sutherland?” she asked.
“Call me Georgia, sweetie. Everyone around here does,”
Georgia said as she reached out to shake the young girl’s hand. As she led the next victim into her office, Georgia managed to make out the edge of some colored ink just peeking out from under a flouncy cuff.
“I’m Gail Filipovic,” the interviewee offered. “The agency said I was supposed to say that Steve sent me, but I don’t really know what that means.”
“Oh, Steve sent you, did he?” Georgia said as her eyebrow immediately shot up. “I guess this afternoon hasn’t been a bust after all.”
Gail smiled as big as she could as she took in the swish office tucked into the back corner of a fifth floor of a downtown Boston high-rise. Her gaze darted between the wall of stately leather-bound tomes on one side and the old-school wood paneling on the other.
The center of the space was filled by a claw-foot mahogany executive desk. Only the large dual monitor backs on the right side of the desk broke up the time-lapse Old World scene, and in the midst of all this traditional luxury, one Georgia Sutherland eased back into the towering leather chair, her eyes sparkling under a layer of thick eyeliner and golden fringe. The interviewer cracked her knuckles, showing off the red-white-and-blue nail polish that coordinated with her Union Jack T-shirt.
Across the table Gail plopped into her chair and fumbled with a well-worn leather messenger bag. Georgia watched the poor girl yank out a printout and try to smooth the corners before handing the flimsy piece of paper over.
Georgia scanned the Times New Roman font and ragged indents, along with the standard bullets of an out-of-the-box word processor template. Instead of reading the objective section or checking for a degree, Georgia zeroed in on Gail’s unpainted, well-filed nails and clunky, comfort-driven footwear. Under one cuff was clearly a tattoo, and the other wrist sparkled with a silver chain with a caduceus printed charm.
“So you want to be a high-end personal assistant?” Georgia asked the girl wearing little flower stud earrings and a tortoiseshell plastic barrette.
“I really just want a job,” Gail confessed. “My recruiter said it was a long shot, but that I should try to, um, branch out in this economy.”
Georgia dropped the resume and her elbows on the desk before cradling her chin on the back of her hands and taking in the skimpy little sentences that described Miss Filipovic. “So you took care of day-to-day needs of a few wealthy older men . . . a Guido . . .
Anderson? Oh, and this guy was named Rocco . . . Smith?” she asked the girl sinking into the guest chair. “What kind of business were they in?”
Gail’s eyes darted to the left. “I guess you could say it was a family business,” she said with a little laugh. “They did do some shipping though—like the executives here, right?”
Georgia smiled again, “You actually looked up what we do here?”
“I tried to do a little homework. I saw some references to global specialty transport and speculative real estate when I googled you all,” Gail said. “I mean there wasn’t very much, but then again most of the guys I’ve worked for were a little hazy with the business details too.”
“You googled us?” Georgia asked. “That was your homework?”
Gail slumped a bit more. She ended up gnawing on a knuckle as she took the time to take in the woman behind the desk. Georgia Sutherland kept alternating between reading the resume and monitoring the screens on her phone and desktop. Her business attire consisted of a T-shirt under a white dinner jacket, skinny jeans, and stilettos. She occasionally flicked at the hacked-off ends of her hair as she tried to conjure the next talking point out of thin air.
Finally Gail managed to choke out, “I was in private nursing mostly.”
“So that is how you assisted all these generically named fellows who worked for family businesses?” Georgia asked.
“I mostly worked for a specific Italian and Eastern European clientele, yes,” Gail said. “But I always knew better than to ask too many questions or to really hope for a reference.”
“And you were hoping to find a different career path?” Georgia asked.
“My last boss referred me to the agency shortly before . . .
before he passed, and he thought that I’d be a good fit, that they could place someone like me,” the interviewee said nervously, now checking the corners of the room. “Please don’t be a bust,” she whispered under her breath.
“You do realize that this is a live-in position, right? My boss is exceptionally particular,” Georgia said. “I’ve got to know that if you take my place, that he’s taken good care of.”
“So I’m interviewing for your old job?” Gail asked. “Did you get a promotion?”
Georgia sighed. “Something like that.”
Her eyes lit up as a new document opened up on one of the screens. “So you went to nursing school and have taken care of two guys that died while under your watch and under rather suspicious circumstances—”
“To be fair Mr. Anderson did die of a heart attack . . . after the drive-by shooting,” Gail said.
“Look, sweetie, I know what it’s like to have employers with secrets,” Georgia said. “And I know that you used to work for the Scribano family in New York, and I know exactly why your auntie sent you up here to start fresh, so don’t worry about hiding anything, OK?”
“Oh my God, do you work for the FBI?” Gail squeaked as she hopped from her seat. “Mom warned me that they’d come looking after I cashed that check in DC—”
Georgia shook her head. “No, I don’t work for the FBI. My boss just happens to be very well-connected, and, trust me, you are by far the most qualified applicant I’ve seen all day, Miss Filipovic.”
“Really? I mean, you know who I really used to work for and that’s OK?” Gail asked now, eyeing Georgia’s hands to make sure that they stayed clearly visible and on the desktop.
“Indeed, my boss has had to use Viktor Scribano on a credit application before. They go way back,” Georgia said with a smile.
“Oh, is he in a family business too?” Gail asked.
“Very different family,” Georgia reassured her.
“I should have known something was up when I got an interview that didn’t involve adult diapers,” Gail said, chewing on her lip. “Did my folks set this up?”
Georgia shook her head.
Gail took a deep breath. “Is it safe to talk if we’re in this room?”
she asked weakly.
“Want to walk and interview?” Georgia asked.
“Sure!”
The pair ended up exiting the swanky office building in record time and grabbing a quick coffee before continuing into the relative expanse of the Boston Common on a fine late spring afternoon.
Once surrounded only by squirrels, Gail finally opened up again.
“Were we under surveillance?” she asked.
“Don’t think so, but you can never be too careful,” Georgia said with a wink. She took a sip of her latte and let the sun pour onto her face for a moment. “Sorry, just been a while since I’ve had a nice afternoon outside.”
“You know, it’s funny. I know the men I worked for weren’t the nicest people on the planet, but to me they were just old guys who needed help.” Gail said and sighed. “I helped them, and now I fear every interview is a potential racketeering bust.”
Georgia smiled. “Sometimes even bad people need good help.”
“What kind of job is this really?” Gail asked. “I couldn’t find much on Lambley, DeMarco, and Young, LLC, but it did seem like it would fit in with my former bosses’ type of operation and the phone number always went to voice mail.”
“So you called and googled?” Georgia asked slyly.
“If I had gotten to a second interview, I would have called my dad and asked his associates to check it out too,” Gail said, returning the grin. “And trust me, they are very thorough when it comes to my safety.”
“I’m sure they are,” Georgia said as she checked her phone once more. “Hang on a sec.” After a furious rain of texts, she finally had to make a call. “I’m on the interview right now . . . Yes, she’s fine
. . . Stop interrupting . . . Top drawer for shirts, your shoes are already laid out . . . Supper’s made and in the fridge . . . There’s a new box of straws in the cabinet over the microwave.” She hung up after a quick “buh-bye.”
“Was that—?”
“Mr. Lambley,” Georgia finished. “I swear, some days he wouldn’t know how to get out of bed without me.”
“So he’s needy?”
“He keeps a live-in personal assistant. What do you think?”
“Is he, you know, disabled?” Gail asked.
“No, but he’s certainly special needs.”
The pair walked for a bit more along the path until Gail broke the silence once more. “So as his assistant, you like—?”
“Take care of any day-to-day emergencies, answer his mail, run errands, do the shopping, and all that,” Georgia said.
“Seems a little vague,” Gail muttered between sips of her own coffee.
“Well, it’s really a job that I can only fully describe once you agree to take it, sweetie,” Georgia said.
“And why would I just do that?” Gail asked.
“Because you’ve been a nurse for mobsters since you graduated, and your mom balances the books for a Serbian drug cartel—not to mention the fact that you’re running an assumed name and have about twelve dollars to your name. So unless you want to pick up work spoon-feeding the grandpa of a local Ukrainian hacker, this post is about the best one the agency is going to find for you.”
“How—?” Gail squeaked.
“Echelon Employment Agency specializes in finding work for those with issues. They set up these sorts of deals all the time, along
with their normal clientele. To keep up appearances, they sneak real candidates, like you, among a bunch of entitled hipster graduates who think that an MBA will make everyone fall all over them. They sent me pretty much everything about you, and I’m pretty sure that you’d be perfectly awesome taking my place, even if you’ve never worked in these exact circles before.”
“So you know everything about me, and I’m just supposed to take this job?” Gail asked. “I mean, are you supposed to intimidate me or something, and I’m just going to fall over?”
“Oh puh-leeze,” Georgia said with an exaggerated wave of her hand. “I was just going to show you the starting salary. That’s what won me over.”
It was Gail’s turn to raise a brow. “Seriously?” she asked. “I mean, how much could it possibly—?” Her jaw dropped as Georgia showed off an image on her phone.
“Did you forget a decimal point?” Gail squeaked.
“You know how life can be really funny sometimes?” Georgia asked. “You sometimes find yourself in a situation so utterly ridiculous that you know somehow that once you accept it, that anything is possible? Well, I’m about to offer you that very same situation.”
“Oh my God, your boss is some billionaire perv, isn’t he?” Gail asked as she looked at the number again.
“Nope, he’s just a vampire.”
“A—a—” Gail stammered. She darted quickly to a nearby bench and planted her butt firmly on the weathered wood so that she could shake her head thoroughly a few times and take it in. She started to burst out laughing but stopped as she noticed just how serious Georgia’s face had become. “A—a—?”
“Vampire,” Georgia finished as she settled down beside her.
“Now you’re just getting ridiculous.” Gail laughed. “How can you even say that without a touch of irony in your voice?”
“A year of practice,” Georgia said with a little shrug. “I used to think it was crazy too, but after a while, you just sort of get used to it.”
Gail cocked her head and studied her interviewer for a solid minute. Nothing changed on Georgia’s face no matter how far forward the brunette leaned in. “Are we talking like bizarre sex-cult blood drinker, then?” she asked.
Georgia shook her head.
“For real?” Gail offered.
“The salary is totally real. I’m looking to retire in Fiji this month at age twenty-nine,” Georgia said in all earnestness. “Like I said, sometimes you get to a point where it’s so insane that it has to be true, and you make that choice. You can walk away right now, and I guarantee you won’t even think about this in a day or so. You’ll have some white wine, tweet about it, maybe tell your cat, and it will be all over.”
“How did you know I have a cat?” Gail muttered incredulously.
Georgia smiled again and continued with, “Or you can just run with it and have the craziest and most rewarding job you’ll ever imagine.”
“Do you think we could start with the white wine?” Gail asked weakly.
- 2 -
Although Klondike Bar never filled up completely until after the Boston theater crowds let out, Gail found herself squished against the retro chic wallpaper as a bachelorette party muscled its way toward the neon temple to all things alcoholic. She blinked as the mix of super-cold AC and super-warmed perfume mix assaulted her eyes. She slipped past a blonde in pink and tried to pick up a specific face in the lighting specifically designed to make everyone’s specific flaws fade into a hazy shadow. Somewhere among the young businessmen fishing and the gals congregating for spritzers, Gail needed to find one woman in a pixie cut.
Something moved to the right. The young Serbian applicant quickly glanced at the mirror behind the vast array of vodka but couldn’t see anything clearly.
“Excuse me,” a soft voice said next to her. An arm in a slick gray suit passed in front of her, and she could see a really well-groomed head of raven-black hair, but the man in swanky threads slipped into the crowd before she could get any more details.
“Let’s all cheer the future Mrs. Witherspoon!” one of the bachelorettes cried as the waiters tried to settle the group into a booth.
Once more Gail’s eyes darted to the mirror. A pair of bright blue eyes surrounded by glam makeup flashed in the neon. She turned to see the back of the gray suit slip by. Before the disparity could quite register, a familiar voice piped up over the blaring dance music,
“Gail!”
Tucked among white leather booths full of dozens of people all trying to look perfectly generically unique in their suits and cocktail dresses, one Georgia Sutherland lorded over the scene in a suit and tie of her own, having somehow managed to change into a tux in the
